Quiet Desperation
by saiken2009
Summary: Rebecca has a miserable life filled with abuse and neglect. Can four singing friends save her before she does something unthinkable?


Quiet Desperation

Author's Note: This is a very personal fic. It's a short one-shot that I wanted to do for myself to see if I could. It focuses more on "Rebecca" than the Monkees, but I felt it would be better if I wrote it from her perspective. I don't own the Monkees, but maybe if I had….well, anyway, read on. If you like it, great, if not…well, that's fine too. And I know the title of the fic is the title of a song by Micky Dolenz, but he got it from Henry David Thoreau and I thought it fit with the emotions.

Rebecca walked down the beach slowly. She had a lot on her mind; almost too much to really sift through. The only thing that rang loud and clear through the chaos of her mind was how much of a failure she was. How much she was just hurting those she loved. What a horrible person she was and how she didn't deserve to live. She was afraid of death, but she was more afraid of continuing to hurt those around her. So she walked. Trying to think of the best way.

She looked up when she heard singing off in the distance. Four young men were sitting around with a group of children singing songs and strumming guitars. The children really seemed to be enjoying the music, so Rebecca stopped momentarily to listen. The man who was singing had long, very curly brown hair. His voice was almost mesmerizing; he had a truly magnificent vocal range and ability. There was a somewhat shorter man singing backup. He had long, straight brown hair. When he sang, Rebecca could pick up an English accent. The other two were strumming guitars and singing along, too. One was quite tall and had a green wool hat on top of long, wavy dark hair. The fourth was a tall man who had long, silky blonde hair. The guitar playing was amazing. Both men did a wonderful job of providing beautiful instrumentals to back up the vocals.

When the men finished their song, all the children cheered and clapped, asking the men to sing more. The men laughed and complied. Rebecca continued to walk, however. She soon came to a cliff that overlooked a long drop. She looked down into the water and could tell that it would be all too easy to be swept away under the current and drown. This spot could work well. She would be one with the sea for the rest of eternity and no one would have to worry about paying for a funeral for her; they'd never find her body. Rebecca stood there for a while. She wasn't really sure how long; she wasn't focused on time. She could hear the voice in the back of her mind shouting at her over and over again.

She closed her eyes and jumped. It seemed like an eternity before she hit the water. It was somewhat cold and her eyes snapped open, even as her body plunged beneath the water. Saltwater stung her eyes, and she snapped them closed again. Instinct told her to fight against the current; to swim. But she fought it. She was a good swimmer, but she didn't want to swim. She wanted the current to sweep her farther under. It seemed to be working for a while, but her body rose above the water for a second; long enough for her to involuntarily breathe in. But a second later, the current pulled her back under and away from the edge of the cliff. She felt herself pulled deeper and deeper, but she wasn't being pulled as far out as she thought she would. She wanted to get pulled all the way out. She didn't want her body washing up on shore. She didn't want her family to have the burden of burying her.

She felt the world around her go dark and there was a tightness in her chest. Her body was begging for air. With each passing second it became harder to fight her body's natural instinct to swim; to push herself to the surface to fight for air. But slowly, her body got weaker as her body was starved of oxygen. Soon her body went limp, and the sounds of the water became muffled and distant. It would be over soon. The voice in her head would finally stop.

She suddenly felt something wrap around her, but she didn't have the energy to figure out what it was or to fight. Soon, she realized that she was being pulled to the surface by something. How could this be happening? After only seconds, she realized that it had been an arm that had wrapped around her. Someone was pulling her to the surface. She wanted to fight, but she was too weak. So she just lay limp in the arms of whoever was trying to rescue her. When she felt her head break the surface of the water, she took another involuntary breath of air and she opened her eyes to get a view of what was happening around her. The person then began swimming towards a nearby shore that she hadn't seen when she jumped. Her vision was blurry still from the lack of oxygen, but she could make out three figures standing on the shore. When they saw Rebecca and her rescuer, they began to run out into the water to try and meet them. After a few moments, the person who saved her was able to stand up and walk towards the other three people waiting.

Rebecca felt weak and still remained somewhat limp as the person wrapped her arm around their shoulder. Soon, one of the people that had been on the shore had met them. She recognized him as the blonde guitar player. She looked at the other two as the blonde took her other arm to loop it over his shoulders to help bear her weight from his friend. She saw the other guitar player in the green hat and the short Englishman. She realized that the person who had saved her must have been the fourth man; the curly haired singer. When they got to the sandy beach, the two men laid her down. The singer dropped to his hands and knees and began coughing a little. He recovered very quickly and turned to Rebecca.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She looked into his face; his eyes were full of worry and concern.

"I…" she trailed off when she spit up a little saltwater herself.

"That's a very dangerous part of the beach, you know," said the Englishman.

"Yeah, a lot of people get swept away over there," agreed the blonde. Rebecca wanted to tell these men to go away and leave her alone, but she couldn't. She didn't have the energy. She began shivering uncontrollably as a strong wind picked up.

"Let's get her to the pad," said the one in the hat. "Get you both dried off." The blonde and the one in the hat both lifted her up by her arms again and carried her up the beach toward a large house. She wanted to protest. She didn't want complete strangers making a fuss over her. But she couldn't fight. She didn't have the strength or the will anymore. So she hung limply across their shoulders as they drew closer to the beach house. Once they arrived at the back door, the short man ran in front to open the door for them. He set down the guitars he was carrying in a stage-like area and dashed over to a side door, returning with a lot of towels as the two men carrying her set her onto a chair in the living room.

"I'll make some tea," the short man said after he handed some towels to the green hat man and some to the curly hair man. The blonde and the green hat man both wrapped her up in the towels, and she immediately felt warmer. The blonde sat in a chair next to her and started to rub his hands up and down her back, trying to warm her.

"What were you doing up there, exactly?" Green hat asked.

"I.." she trailed off again. She wasn't that weak anymore now that she felt warmer and was getting dry, but now she was ashamed. The cold must have shocked her brain back into reality. She knew what she had done was stupid. She knew she shouldn't have listened to the voices that had once again started yelling inside her head. She looked at the four boys who had saved her life in turn, but let them rest on the one who had dove into the treacherous current to save her. He was sitting in a chair across from her trying to towel off himself.

"Why did you jump in and save me?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" he answered as though it were a stupid question.

"Because I jumped," she answered, now shifting her eyes to her hands.

"Yeah, I saw that," he answered. "Doesn't mean I still shouldn't have jumped in after you."

"You jumped?" The blonde asked a little shocked. "I thought you fell."

"Why would you do that?" the Englishman added. "That's not the best place in the world to dive into the ocean."

"I think she knew that," green hat said, now sitting down himself. "So that brings us back to my original question; what were you doing up there?" She couldn't look at any of them. How could she explain anything to them? She didn't know who they were. They didn't know who she was. She sat in silence looking for the words to try and explain. She wanted to run out of there, but her legs still felt a little weak. And she doubted they'd let her go without some sort of explanation. She felt her eyes fill with tears, but fought to keep them from spilling over. She realized that she was absently rubbing her fingers over the scars on her arm and wrist. She tried to fold her arms to hide them, but it was too late. She looked up long enough to see all four men had seen them. She immediately felt embarrassed again.

"Let's start over," curly hair said. "My name is Micky, this is Mike, Davy and Peter," he indicated green hat, the Englishman and the blonde respectively. "What's your name?"

"Rebecca," she answered weakly.

"Well, Rebecca," he continued, "what in the world could make you want to jump today?"

"I…I don't deserve to be here," she couldn't fight the tears anymore.

"I doubt that," Peter said softly.

"I don't."

"What makes you think that?" Davy asked.

"A lot of things," she answered.

"Look, I know you don't really know us," Mike said, "but maybe talking to perfect strangers will actually help. We don't know you, so we can't really judge you. We can't be partial." She thought about what he said for a moment and figured she owed it to them anyway. Micky was still dripping wet all over, Peter was wet from the shoulders down and Mike's shoulders were wet from carrying her.

"The only thing I'm good for is hurting those around me."

"How so?" Micky asked.

"My dad has heart problems because I stress him out too much. So does my baby brother. He even broke out into stress related hives once and needed medication for it. I'm killing my family."

"What exactly is it that you do to stress them out?" Peter asked sounding very skeptical.

"I don't know. I don't behave. I stole money from my dad to buy food because I was hungry. My step-mom told me I couldn't eat anything other than what she gave me because I'm too fat. I tell lies and hang out with people they don't want me to hang out with. But I can't help it. I love my friends and they make me feel good about myself. They aren't into any bad things like drugs or anything. My step-mom just thinks they influence me to lie. But they don't. I lie to them all on my own."

"Sounds like your step-mom is very controlling," Davy said.

"She is. My little brother is about as big as I am, but he can eat whatever he wants because he's her son. She's overweight and she doesn't diet. Her daughter is big, too. And I get much better grades than my any of my siblings. I hate my step-mom, but I can't stop hearing her. I know I shouldn't listen, but she won't shut up. She's always in the back of my head. Telling me over and over again what a horrible person I am and how I'm hurting everyone around me."

"Your step-mom told you that you were hurting your family?" Mike asked. "That's not true. Stress can cause health problems, but only if there's already an underlying issue. And if they're not letting you eat, that's on them, not you."

"I am allowed to eat, but I only get a bologna and cheese sandwich for lunch and I'm still hungry."

"Anyone would be," Peter agreed.

"I just hate my life," Rebecca said, near sobbing now. She felt Peter wrap his arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"That's no reason to throw it away," Mike said. "If your family is telling you these things, they don't love you. I can't imagine ever telling my daughter that she was killing me, if I had one."

"What does your dad say?" Davy asked.

"He doesn't say anything. I can't talk to him. He's a medic so he works for 24 hours, then he's off for 48 hours. He's hardly ever home, and when he is, she's there with him. When she starts yelling at me for something, he just sits there. He doesn't do anything to stop it."

"What about your mom?" Micky asked.

"She…she told me I was dead to her because I wanted to move in with my dad. Her husband drinks a lot because of his time in the service and he gets angry and yells a lot. Among other things."

"What other things?" Mike asked.

"He slapped me across the face so hard once that my glasses went flying across the room. He spit on me. He picked me up by the throat and threw me onto the bed because I didn't make it to his specifications."

"Can't blame you for wanting to leave that," Peter breathed.

"He only did things like that when he was drunk. He's a truly wonderful man when he's sober. But I only traded one horror for another." Rebecca looked up when a loud knock came at the door.

"I'll get it," Davy said already crossing over to the front door. He opened a little hatch that allowed you to see who was on the other side and closed it quickly. Rebecca wondered how he could see who was on the other side, since the top of his head was nearly level with the hatch. "It's Mr. Babbit."

"Wonder what he wants," Mike said. Davy opened the door and a rather angry looking man stormed in right past Davy.

"Can we help you, Mr. Babbit?" Davy asked. "We paid rent already."

"Yes, but once again that was for last month!" he answered.

"Well, you continue to be late in making necessary repairs to this place," Mike countered.

"Repairs?"

"Ceiling is still falling apart," Micky offered.

"Plumbing still doesn't work right," Peter added. Mr. Babbit's eyes landed on Rebecca, making her feel slightly uncomfortable. She thought she recognized him from somewhere, but couldn't be sure.

"You're Rebecca!" he said. Apparently she did know him from somewhere. "Your step-mom told me you ran away! I'm going to call her and tell her where you are." Without waiting for argument or anything, he whirled around and left.

"I can't go home!" Rebecca said, now springing to her feet.

"How old are you?" Mike asked.

"Sixteen."

"Well, there's not really much of a choice there," he answered. "You're underage. You have to go home."

"You don't understand," Rebecca pled. "I can't deal with that anymore! I can't go back to that." Rebecca sunk back into the chair and began sobbing lightly now. "I hear her words over and over in my head. Her voice echoing through my head like a jackhammer. I'm a 'waste of skin', she says to me every chance she gets. She even calls me "it" when she refers to me. Not "she", "it". That's all I am to her. 'It's home. It isn't working hard enough. It did something stupid the other day. It misbehaved again.' She hates me. She makes me stay outside on the weekend and during the summer to do yard work all day in the 110 degree weather and I can't come inside for a drink or even to pee unless I have her permission, which I rarely get because she sits on the couch and watches TV so I can't even get her attention through the locked back door. She wanted to send me to a boot camp for troubled teens, but they said I wasn't troubled enough so now she wants me to go into the army. I failed the physical test so she threw me from the chair I was sitting in and kicked me while shoving my head into the ground. I just can't go back!" Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Mike, we can't let her go back to that!" Davy exclaimed. "It's abuse!"

"So we call the cops," Mike said. "Report it. Let them take care of things."

"Do you know how big my file is!?" Rebecca exclaimed. Micky now got up and sat in another chair next to her as well. He placed a comforting hand on her back.

"Then maybe they'll take you out of there?" he said.

"No they won't," Rebecca said, pulling away from Peter to wipe tears from her eyes. "They never have. Since I was 3, my step-mom used to take me to three different doctors to have them write me the same prescription and when she didn't want to deal with me, she'd give me all three doses at once to knock me out. My mom said that I used to go to the custody hearings almost catatonic. I had a bad reaction to meds when I was 10 and couldn't walk so I kept falling down and hurting myself. She laughed at me instead of taking me to the hospital. Her friend is the one who took me. It's all documented and they've never once removed me. Bruises and cuts have been reported by all the teachers who ever paid enough attention to notice them, and they still left me there. I've been bounced around from my mom, to my dad, to my dad's mom, who was such a horrible drug addict that the firemen knew us by name because we had to call them so often when we'd find her passed out on the couch. They've never once removed me."

"I'm really sorry," Mike said. "But we have to try the police. I can't in good conscience let you run around the streets. It's way too dangerous out there."

"That cut on your head," Peter started. "Is that from your step-mom?"

"Yeah," Rebecca answered. "That's from her bashing my head into the ground for failing the test with the army."

"Well, maybe if they see an injury, they will have enough proof to pull you out of there." Rebecca nodded. She knew they were right about the streets being dangerous. She was too afraid to be out alone. She'd run away multiple times before and always had come home out of fear. She hoped now that she was sixteen and had proof of being abused that something would happen. She nodded and Mike went to go call the police.

Rebecca was afraid to talk to them. She felt butterflies in her stomach and was afraid of what would happen if this didn't work. Every time someone had reported her abuse, she'd been yelled at. Her step-mother had even bashed her head into the wall once. That's when the chore list had started. Every day she would come home from school and there would be a 2 page list of chores for her to do that kept her away from the rest of the family. Her two little half-brothers and her step sister only had to clean their rooms. Rebecca didn't have a room, though. All her stuff was kept in a closet and she slept every night on a cot in the living room. No wonder she was starting to suffer back pains. The thought of going back home after talking to the police terrified her. She had almost decided not to do it when another knock came at the door and Mike let in a detective and a female uniformed police officer.

Rebecca's heart nearly jumped out of her chest. This was happening. There was no turning back now. The detective took her statement and wrote down everything she had said. The uniformed police officer took pictures of her forehead and asked if she had any other marks. She told them she had bruises on her buttocks from having been kicked, so they led her into a bathroom and took pictures of that, too.

After 2 hours, the detective stepped out, leaving the uniformed officer to stay with them. Peter and Micky still sat on either side of Rebecca, acting almost as spiritual tethers; holding her up and keeping her strong. Of all the times she had spoken to Child Protective Services and the police, they had never gone this far; never taken pictures, never had her sign a written statement attesting to the abuse. A brief glimmer of hope was born inside her. It was nurtured by the two men sitting on either side of her with their hands placed comfortingly on her back or her shoulder; silently saying that everything was going to be ok.

The detective came back in after a few moments with a concerned look on his face.

"I just spoke to your father and step-mother," he said. "She says that you threw a temper-tantrum and injured yourself."

"That's bull!" Micky exclaimed.

"It's unfortunately a case of "he said, she said"," the detective had a look on his face that said he believed Rebecca though. "My hands are tied."

"So you're going to send her back home?" Mike asked unbelievably.

"No, they don't want her back," he answered before turning back to Rebecca. "They gave me your grandparents' phone number and I spoke with them. Your mother's parents. I explained the situation and your grandfather is already on his way down here to get you." Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. Her grandparents were going to help her. Her grandparents had been the one constant in her life. She loved them with every bit of her soul. They always spoke up and stood up for her. They always were more concerned with her wellbeing. Even if that meant disagreeing with their daughter at times. They had always supported Rebecca in everything. Making sure she had done her homework after picking her up at school because her mom had been working 3 jobs to support her and her sister. Listening to her when she was having a rough day and doing little things to cheer her up. How could she have forgotten about them when she jumped?

When her grandfather arrived an hour later, Rebecca was awash with relief. The detective had him sign a form stating he was taking over custody before he and the uniformed officer left. Her grandfather smiled at her. One of his warm, loving smiles that made her feel as if the world wasn't crashing down around her.

"Thank you boys for taking care of my grand-daughter," he said to Mike, Davy, Micky and Peter.

"Don't mention it," Mike answered as he stood to shake her grandfather's hand.

"You saved her?"

"Well, actually Micky is the one who jumped in the water after her," Mike waved to Micky who smiled back a little sheepishly.

"We all appreciate that. I'll make sure she gets the therapy and help she needs."

"Excellent," Davy said.

"Um," Rebecca started. "I heard you guys singing on the beach earlier. You were really good. Are you a band?"

"Yes," Peter answered. "We're the Monkees!"

"We aren't big or anything," Micky added. "Just a few gigs here and there. For now."

"Well, with talent like that, I'm sure you'll get discovered one day," Rebecca said, now standing to walk over to her grandfather. "I'd like to hear more from you guys sometime."

"Any time you want to come over, our door will be open," Mike said with a warm smile.

"Thank you," she answered. She knew that she would be back. These were all nice men who had done so much for her. She didn't have very many friends in the world. She could count on one hand the number of people she could confide in, and now she had four more. She felt herself be truly happy again. Something she hadn't felt in years. And it was all thanks to the Monkees.


End file.
